


Errata

by unnecessary



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Asexual Hermann, M/M, Post-Movie, Pre-Movie, Queer Vanessa, Slow Build, canon-verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnecessary/pseuds/unnecessary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time the war ends, the PPDC records on Newton Geiszler and Hermann Gottlieb are extensive. </p><p>Not everything in them is correct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After the war ends, before anyone has thought to block access to the PPDC server, Hermann bypasses what little security there is and downloads his personnel file. 

His, and Newton’s. They’re there, together, in the file marked _K-Science._ Newton’s file is a mess of patents, hastily-submitted reports, and requests for transport for assorted paraphernalia (kaiju innards; a piano; a fragment of a kaiju brain). The medical files are there, too, though they’re buried deeper: Psychiatric evaluation (cleared for duty). Psychiatric evaluation (monitoring advised). Clinical. Factual. Impersonal. 

Hermann’s file is larger, though only by a few megabytes. The disparity is due to every single complaint he has ever filed against Newton, all stored in a file of their own labeled _Complaints - For Records Only._ There is a ReadMe file with a note that they were never acted upon, but that this knowledge should be kept from Hermann for the sake of his mental health. His relationship with his father gets its own chapter. 

ReadMe files, individual documents for each complaint: It’s archaic. The entire system has been outdated for years, like that of any major administrative body. It was outdated even when it was established almost a decade ago. This sort of security was never the PPDC’s strong point. 

“Hermann?” 

Hermann spins slowly around in his chair and looks at Newton. Newton has a bag slung over one shoulder. His hair is in disarray, even by Newton’s standards. There are dark shadows under his eyes. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

“Yes,” says Hermann, and he stands without bothering to turn off the computer. It will be reclaimed by the PPDC soon enough, along with almost everything he owns in this place he has, for a short time, been able to call home. The files remain untouched; the PPDC may be incompetent, but they will notice if the files are tampered with. 

Newton turns to leave, so he doesn’t notice that Hermann slips the USB drive in his pocket as he picks up his cane. 

According to PPDC records, Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, and Newton Geiszler, PhD, first became aware of each other in 2013 in the aftermath of K-Day, and they began corresponding shortly thereafter. By the time the war ends, they have known each other for twelve years and been colleagues for five. 

This is false. 

PPDC records also state that in 2017, when they came face to face, they immediately disliked each other and presumably parted ways.

They didn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about them “parting ways” is (basically) a quotation from [Hermann’s page](http://pacificrim.wikia.com/wiki/Hermann_Gottlieb) on the Pacific Rim Wiki. It greatly amuses me to think of the Wiki as the official documentation on our favorite characters. 
> 
> The bit about Hermann’s complaints never being acted upon is from [here](http://pacificrim.wikia.com/wiki/Personnel_Dossier:_Hermann_Gottlieb).


	2. Chapter 2

Hermann learned the name Newton Geiszler at age thirteen when his father slapped a newspaper down on the table in front of him at breakfast. Karla and Dieterich had already left for school and Bastien was washing his dishes, so Hermann was alone at the table. “A genius just like you,” his father told him, but there was something mocking in his tone. “I hope you understand that when it is time for you to go to university, you will be returning home. ” 

Hermann pulled the paper toward him and read the article over the remains of his piece of toast. A twelve-year-old Berliner had just become the second-youngest student to get accepted at MIT. He was on track to pursue a PhD — in what, no one was sure. 

MIT, of course, was in America. “Home” was Germany, though they had been living in England for over six years now. As far as Lars Gottlieb was concerned, Geiszler had betrayed his country. Hermann obligingly shrugged when his father asked him what he thought about Geiszler, and he pretended not to care when his father tossed the newspaper in the bin. 

At fourteen, Hermann wrote a short program — a very short, messy, and naive program — that stripped any page with the name “Newton Geiszler” in it from Google search results and saved it to his computer. The internet was so still young and Google was so close to _being_ the internet, he didn’t bother to update his program beyond a few bug fixes for the next year and a half. In that time, Geiszler published the first paper in which he was listed as the sole author, changed his major twice, and discovered MySpace. 

Hermann learned that his dream of being a pilot would not be tolerated. 

At sixteen, Hermann scrapped the program and entered his first year of university. He did not look for an update on how Geiszler was doing until the day he was laughed out of a Quantum Mechanics lecture because no one believed him when he corrected the lecturer. Curled up under the covers on his bed, tears prickling his eyes, he read about every single thing Geiszler had done since he had last checked. 

And though they had never met, though they had never spoken, he began to think of Newton as a friend. 

As the years passed, Hermann looked up Newton’s publications less and less; though he seemed to have no remaining loyal to one field, none of the fields he chose overlapped even slightly with Hermann’s areas of interest. By the time Hermann started the first year of his PhD at the Technische Universität Berlin, Newton was two years into his own PhD and had published only half as much as Hermann. Hermann’s own doctoral work took up most of his time, and eventually, he stopped tracking Newton’s progress entirely. 

Newton Geiszler, like so many of the things he had cared about as a child, was forgotten in favor of things that would be useful. 

* * *

 

On August 10, 2013, Trespasser crashed through the Golden Gate Bridge, trailing cables like it couldn’t feel every scream of metal in its bones.

An ocean and a continent away, vision hazy from lack of sleep, Hermann opened his laptop and typed a name into the search bar he had almost forgotten he knew. He had to talk to someone, _anyone,_ about the event that had just torn modern science down to the ground, because the universe was demanding that something be built in its place. 

Newton’s Twitter feed was a mess of quick, almost nonsensical notes and observations — not on how the beast had gotten there, but about the creature itself: its size, its anatomical structure, the way it moved. And then, the last Tweet, from several hours earlier: 

_Fuck this. No one is going to take this seriously._

It wasn’t until another kaiju, and a third, and a fourth emerged from the ocean and the scientific community had yet to say anything worthwhile that Hermann became convinced that Newton was correct. In the meantime, Newton had compiled an impressive catalog of every photograph of the kaiju on the web, and he had a WordPress account that was full of his “published” papers on the subject — since no self-respecting publication would publish findings in a field that didn’t exist. 

And Hermann reached out. 

* * *

 

“Hermann Gottlieb?” 

It was 2011, Newt was at the Gordon Research Conference on excitatory synapses and brain function in Massachusetts, and he was not entirely sure he was ready for this level of networking without at least two more cups of coffee. 

“Yes,” said the woman in front of him, who had a British accent and was absolutely _gorgeous_. “You’ve had amazingly similar career paths. He’s a professor at Cambridge at the moment, which is how I met him. He couldn’t make it to the Atomic Physics Conference this year, which is a pity, or else I would have suggested you two meet. You should look him up.” 

“You do realize I’m a biologist, right?” Newt said, flashing her a somewhat confused smile. “I’m all for interdisciplinary work, but —” 

“Dr. Geiszler.” She smiled. “My understanding is that you don’t confine yourself to just one field. Trust me, I completely understand the feeling.” She winked at him, and Newt went a little weak at the knees. Her expression quickly smoothed out into something pleasant and professional, and she adjusted her glasses with one finger. “If you’re ever interested in pursuing the physical sciences, I suggest he be your first contact.” 

Newt didn’t do anything by halves. He went back to his room, checked his email, made himself a cup of coffee, proofread his powerpoint for his talk that afternoon, made himself a second cup of coffee, and read the abstracts of every paper Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, had ever published. 

When Hermann emailed Newt two years later, Newt knew exactly who he was. 

* * *

 

The way it began was this: 

From: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
To: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
Sent: November 23, 2013, 10:34 PM

_Dear Dr. Geiszler,_

_In light of the recent attacks on cities on the Pacific Rim, it has come to my attention that we have common interests, despite how little our research appears to overlap at first glance. If you will excuse the presumption, I have read all of the papers you have published on your WordPress account and looked into some of the more intriguing points you raise. . . ._

_I look forward to hearing from you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermann Gottlieb_

_——_

_Hermann Gottlieb, Ph.D._  
Assistant Professor  
DAMTP  
Cambridge University

From: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
To: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
Sent: November 23, 2013, 6:02 PM

_Dear Dr. Gottlieb,_

_I am both surprised and grateful that you took the time to read through those posts. Though outside of my own fields of research, your contributions to the field of quantum field theory, are, from what I understand, nothing short of astounding._

_I could not agree more that pooling our resources is necessary now more than ever. I admit that I did not explain myself fully online, so if you will allow me to elaborate, I think I can shed some light on at least the issue of the latest kaiju attack. . . ._

_Sincerely,_

_Newton Geiszler_

_P.S. Do you know a woman named Vanessa?_

_\- - -_

_Newton Geiszler, Ph.D._  
Associate Professor of Biology  
Massachusetts Institute of Technology

* * *

 

Newton was thoughtful, Newton was eloquent, and Newton was brilliant. After three weeks and four emails in which Newton consistently addressed Hermann as “Hermann,” he finally caved and addressed his new colleague as he had always thought of him: Newton. 

(Hermann intentionally ignored it when Newton began signing his emails as “Newt.” Later, Newton would regret that he had never mentioned that he really didprefer his nickname — and, even later than that, Newton would decide that the nickname never sounded right when Hermann said it, anyway.) 

* * *

 

The way Newt jokingly calculated it in late 2023, Hermann fell in love with him circa 2019, when Newt defended his honor, etcetera, etcetera, at a dinner hosted by a conference sponsored by the PPDC. 

This was false. 

Hermann fell in love with Newton Geiszler in early 2014, after they had been corresponding for an embarrassing three months. Hermann was not one to fall in love fast or hard, but he did both, and with an intensity that shocked him. He did not figure it out until one April morning when Newton sent him a message saying only, _Thanks, by the way. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you._ Hermann leaned back in his chair and stared, blinking, up at his ceiling. He had never met anyone with whom he identified so completely before. It was as though every part of himself he had ever hated or doubted was reflected back at him in brilliant, vibrant color. 

He didn’t respond, but he could tell that Newton took his silence for what it was: an unspoken thanks of his own. 

* * *

 

In June, a paper by Hermann came out in _Science_. One of Hermann’s colleagues pulled him aside. “This is fantastic,” she said. “I was just wondering — you reference a paper in here that sounded interesting, but I can’t find it anywhere. I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction.” 

“Hmm?” said Hermann absently. He took her iPad from her and looked at the line where she was pointing. 

 _. . . as discussed by Newton Geiszler,_ it said. 

“Your citation says it’s in an issue of _Neuron_ , but I can’t find it.” 

“Ah,” said Hermann. “Would you mind if I look into it, and get back to you?” 

“Of course,” she said. 

* * *

 

From: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
To: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
Sent: June 8, 2014, 2:10 PM

_Newton,_

_Did you happen to get that paper on neurotransmitters published yet?_

_Hermann_

From: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
To: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
Sent: June 8, 2014, 9:12 AM

_No, why? I think it’s due out next month._

From: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
To: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
Sent: June 8, 2014, 2:14 PM

_Newton,_

_Ah. I was just wondering. Thank you._

_Hermann_

From: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
To: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
Sent: June 8, 2014, 12:03 PM

_Did you cite me in something? I’m getting all these hits on my profile from the UK._

From: ngeiszler@mit.edu  
To: H.Gottlieb@damtp.cam.ac.uk  
Sent: June 8, 2014, 12:26 PM

_Haha, you totally did! That paper comes out on July 12, so just wait and in a month I’ll make you honest. :p_

* * *

(It was the first time it happened, but it would not be the last.) 

* * *

 

Hermann and his father did not always see eye to eye, but they agreed from the first that it was absolutely vital that they combat the kaiju threat by aiding the PPDC. His father was concerned with the big picture, with the management of the project and the logistics, and he was happy to allow his son to work on the details. When Hermann gained a place working on the first-generation Jaeger operating systems, he felt for the first time in a long time that he was doing something real, something that would change the world. 

Newton expressed disappointment that Hermann would sign on to code the Jaegers, but his disappointment was mitigated by the knowledge that (a) Hermann was the one doing it and (b) the Jaegers were about 1000 times better — in terms of both nuclear fallout and collateral damage — than a nuclear bomb. Neither of them had liked that approach, or the way nations around the world seemed to think it was a viable option now that the first one had been dropped. 

Hermann did not like the way Newton was willing to throw caution to the wind, along with a good amount of his common sense and morality, if he had a chance at getting a closer look at the kaiju. Newton hadn’t done anything illegal, Hermann was fairly certain — yet. But the way he complained about the cultists and kaiju scavengers with what sounded like envy was not comforting. 

It was Hermann who convinced Newton to join the PPDC, though it took many dropped hints, subtle and not so subtle. _Look,_ Newton said in one of their now-common instant messaging sessions, _let’s make a deal. I’ll be in the next Jaeger Academy class if you agree to stop bugging me about my immoral approach to science._

 _You mean you’ll apply,_ Hermann responded. The PPDC was desperate for pilots, but it was overwhelmed with applications for engineering and research positions. The Jaeger Academy was selective by virtue of its difficulty, but the application process was more so. 

 _I’ll get in,_ Newton replied. _They’d have to be crazy not to accept me._

Hermann huffed out a breath in annoyance, but Newt was right. It was, as the saying went, only arrogance if it wasn’t true. 

 _The PPDC are not known for their sanity,_ he typed back. 

_True. :) Deal?_

_Yes._

_I do have a sense of right and wrong, you know,_ Newt messaged him a few hours later, by which time Hermann had forgotten he still had the chat window open. _I don’t want any more people to die._

 _I know,_ Hermann replied. 

Two days later, Newton gave notice to MIT. Hermann didn’t know that Newton had even applied to the program until he got an email a month and a half later saying only, _On my way to Anchorage. See you on the other side. :)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun factoids: 
> 
> That thing of citing a paper before it’s published? That actually happens. I imagine this happens a _lot_ , to both of them. 
> 
> The dates on the emails are for their respective timezones. Hermann’s email address puts him in the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics at Cambridge alongside some people [you may have heard of](http://www.damtp.cam.ac.uk/people/s.w.hawking/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt knew who Lars Gottlieb was, and he knew who Hermann Gottlieb was, but it never occurred to him that their common last names might be more than a coincidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe how busy I am this semester. I had a four-day weekend last week, and I spent the entire break doing homework. I was already burned out by the start of this week when all I really wanted to do was write, so I decided to update something by the end of the week and here we are.

By 2016, there was not a single person with a television or radio who did not know who had invented the Jaeger Program. Lars Gottlieb was the face of the PPDC in those early years, and it was no wonder: he had created the first viable program to stop the kaiju, and his plan  _worked._

As was the case with most public figures, Newt disliked him on principle, and it didn’t take very long before he was convinced his instincts were right. Lars Gottlieb attended every press conference wearing suits that were clearly tailored and worth more than what his career called for, and he had the sort of glacial smile that oozed intelligence and power. Newt didn’t trust anyone who said the work they were doing was for the “good of humanity,” because (a) they almost _always_ had another goal in mind and (b) their definition of “humanity” tended to be pretty damn limited. 

(Ah, yes, the Coastal Wall, with its equal protection for all — especially those who lived in its shadow because they had nowhere else to go, and who paid for that privilege with their lives.) 

Newt knew who Lars Gottlieb was, and he knew who Hermann Gottlieb was, but it never occurred to him that their common last names might be more than a coincidence.

* * *

 

If there was one thing Newt disliked about the Jaeger Academy, it was how little time he got to himself. 

Sure, he was a social guy (somewhat) and could tune out distractions when need be (with the aid of his headphones), but four months was a long time to spend most of your waking hours with a bunch of other people. What with classes and training and meals, they were stuck together from sunrise to sunset, which in Alaska in the summer was _a really long time._ Sometimes Newt just wanted a few hours (days, weeks) to work on his own projects, hear himself think, or jerk off somewhere that wasn’t the _freaking shower,_ Jesus. 

He also really missed talking to Hermann. 

A month in, he was sitting on his bed in the dark, hours after lights out, waiting for Hermann to come online. Hermann was stationed in Lima, so he was a few hours behind Newt, but it was getting late even for him. 

His chat program pinged at him, and he hastily muted the volume on his laptop. Someone rolled over and muttered, “Fucking Christ, Geiszler,” but he ignored them. 

 _Hello,_ said the message that had caused his computer to ping. _I’m sorry for taking so long. I hope I haven’t kept you up._

 _Nope,_ Newt replied. _What’s up?_

 _Not much,_ Hermann replied. _I was late because I’ve been on a plane all day._

Newt’s heart thumped anxiously in his chest. _To where?_

_Home. I’m taking a week off._

Newt swallowed his disappointment. Hermann had no reason to visit Kodiak Island, but. 

(They had been corresponding for almost two years. That was a really long time.) 

 _Planes have wifi now, you know,_ he teased. 

Hermann’s response was immediate. _I would much rather have been talking to you, I assure you. Unfortunately, I was seated next to my father, which required me to at least pretend to be sociable._

 _Why were you on a plane with your dad?_ Newt knew next to nothing about Hermann’s family, though he was under the impression that they (mother? siblings?) still lived in England somewhere. 

Hermann was quiet for a long time. _He was here on business,_ he finally said. 

 _What business does he have in Lima?_ Newt started to type, but Hermann wasn’t done. 

_Please tell me about your day. I don’t want to talk about work or my family for a while._

Hermann never asked for anything. Newt immediately deleted the beginning of his question and obliged. 

Over the next week, Newt got the impression that Hermann’s time at home was far from a vacation. Whenever he came online, he sounded more stressed than he had when he was working at the Shatterdome. Whatever he was working on for the PPDC was fascinating enough that sometimes he forgot to talk to Newt for days at a time, but when that happened he always apologized and set aside some time to chat with Newt. Whatever he was dealing with at home kept him limited to short messages that were sporadic at best and rarely came at a time when Newt was available. Newt missed him and worried about him, but there was nothing he could do except throw himself into his work for the Academy. 

They were only just beginning to examine the Pons system after weeks of studying the Jaeger tech. Most of Newt’s classmates were training to be J-Tech officers or pilots, so Newt hadn’t been sure at first exactly why he had to sit through this as well, but the longer they spent on it, the more appreciation he had for the Jaegers. They were elegant in their own way, despite the haphazard way they had been built. And they _had_ been cobbled together, from scraps of metal and blueprints from unknown militaries for classified projects that would never see the light of day. It must have driven Hermann crazy, how disorganized it all ways, and it probably still did. 

But every time they watched close-up footage of a Jaeger hand closing and opening or viewed a diagram of the complex network of cables connecting pilot to Jaeger, Newt was reminded that this was something Hermann had worked on, that Hermann had _made that hand move_. 

(And now Hermann was out there, working on projects for the PPDC he couldn’t tell Newt about, and that more than anything was all the motivation he needed to graduate from the Academy and join him.) 

And the Pons system! It got the most press, of course, and had from the start; the PPDC hadn’t bothered to keep it a secret for very long after they had gotten it to work. It was widely accepted as the single greatest human achievement of the 21st century, and Newt wasn’t going to dispute that. He half wished he had applied to be a J-Tech officer, because getting to develop this further instead of just _waiting_ for another attack — 

(There would be a kaiju attack two weeks later and Newton would get his first real sample. This, he decided, was worth it.) 

Five days after Hermann had left, he logged on briefly to send Newt a message: _My flight is tomorrow. I never thought I would say this, but I cannot tell you how relieved I am to be heading back to the Shatterdome._

 _Is everything okay?_ Newt asked him anxiously before he could log off. 

 _Yes._ And then: _I suspect you will be getting a message tomorrow. I’ll talk to you when I get in._

 _About what?_ he asked, but Hermann had already logged off. 

* * *

 

The next day, while Newt was in the middle of taking apart the Academy’s single active Pons system, he got an email. By the time he snuck back to their bedroom and turned on his computer, it was close to one in the morning and the email was five hours old. He read it twice, sat up straight, and said, “Holy shit.” Someone, maybe Tendo, rolled over and shushed him, but he didn’t notice. 

The International Council for Science had organized the first ever Kaiju Science Conference. It was going to be held in 2017.

 _Hermann, you have to promise me you’re going to be presenting at this thing,_ he said in the first of a series of frantic emails. _I just got my invite to present, and you can bet your entire publication history I’m going to be there._ He quickly searched to see if there was any news about it on the Internet, because Hermann was not online, _how could Hermann not be online?_

A handful of the major news outlets had already picked up the story, though none of them had more to say than what could fit in a quick blurb. He clicked on one, and it stopped him dead in his tracks. 

_Director of the Jaeger Program Lars Gottlieb advocated personally for the establishment of the conference alongside his son Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, who aided in designing and implementing the operating system used in Mark 1 Jaegers._

Newt stared at his screen. _Who aided in designing and implementing the operating system used in Mark 1 Jaegers,_ he read again. There couldn’t be any doubt. It was him. 

Hermann was Lars Gottlieb’s son. 

His chat pinged at him. _Before you ask, I have not read any of the emails you have sent me,_ Hermann said. _In answer to the questions I can only assume you asked judging from your subject lines: Yes, I will be there, and yes, I will be presenting. I can only assume congratulations are in order to you as well._

Newt took a deep breath. Hermann had never mentioned it. Was that because he didn’t want Newt to know? Was he embarrassed about it, or humble, or was he bitter about his father’s role in the PPDC? Or did he assume that Newt knew, because everyone knew, and somehow Newt was the last one to find out?  

 _Fuck YES they are,_ Newt replied, trying to shake off his uneasiness. _Read the emails. I’ll wait._

He didn’t have to wait long. _You do realize you have an entire year to put together this talk,_ Hermann said. _It sounds like you’ve written it already. Please tell me there isn’t -more.-_

_Correction: I had four years, and three of them are already up. Go big or go extinct, right?_

He could almost hear Hermann’s sigh in his response. _That is not an encouraging attitude to have when the kaijus are significantly larger than anything we can throw at them._

Newt and Hermann had an unspoken rule that they did not communicate in any way other than through writing. This had always suited Newt just fine because, one, he hated talking on the phone (or via video), and two, because it wasn’t considered a major breach of social etiquette to multitask while chatting via instant messaging. He got the impression that Hermann’s reasons had more to do with thinking of their relationship as a professional one. They were colleagues, and colleagues did not videochat or drunk text each other at 2 a.m. For that reason, they had never exchanged phone numbers, and Newt suspected he never would. 

But just then, Newt wanted nothing more than to call Hermann, correct his pluralization of _kaiju,_ and to _hear_ Hermann tell him that yes, his father really wasthe inventor of the Jaeger Program. 

 _Maybe,_ Newt replied instead, clinging to the hope that Hermann had not done what he thought he had, that this was only the first time Hermann had used his leverage with his father to give himself an advantage. _But I think you and I can take them._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: sexism, brief panicking, and a very awkward moment. (Apologies for the second-hand embarrassment.)

During Hermann’s postgraduate years, when Newton Geiszler was nothing more than a forgotten file on an old laptop, Hermann encountered the work of V. Kiesler. Dr. Kiesler was, when she wasn’t dabbling in neuroscience, an astrophysicist, and her contributions to the field put her squarely among Hermann’s peers. It never occurred to Hermann to begin a correspondence — she was out of his league by a good mile and a half, and he had nothing to contribute to the conversation, anyway. 

Early in his teaching career, when the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics was looking for a visiting lecturer, Hermann put her name forward. She accepted the offer, and in 2010, she visited the school. 

Hermann was reading email in his office when a colleague knocked on his door and poked their head in. “The visiting lecturer wants to sit in on your lecture today. I thought I’d give you a heads up.” 

“Alright,” he said absently, deleted another piece of spam, and forget entirely about it. 

He walked into his classroom that afternoon to find the most beautiful person he had ever seen sitting in the front row. Her black hair was pulled back loosely by a clip, and she was intent on the notebook she had open in front of her. When Hermann walked in, she looked up and flashed him a smile from beneath a pair of glasses with slim frames. Hermann smiled back and hurried over to his table in front of the blackboard. 

As Hermann was unpacking his notes from his backpack, a young man got out of his seat at the back of the room and came down to talk to the newcomer. 

“This place can be a bit confusing if you’ve never been here before. We have quantum mechanics in here on Tuesdays. If you’re looking for the bio department . . .” 

“I’m fine, but thank you.” 

Hermann kept his attention on his notes. He shuffled them and un-shuffled them, then turned to the board and began drawing a preliminary diagram. 

“Did you just join this module?” A new voice this time. “It’s a little late in the term, but I can help you catch up if you want.” 

“I’m really fine.” 

“I’d be happy to show you around campus. I know the greatest place for lunch—” 

“You’re not going to take her to that sandwich place, are you? If you like sushi—” 

Hermann pressed so hard on the blackboard, the piece of chalk snapped in half. He set the chalk aside and swung around. More students were filtering into the room, and a small crowd was forming around the front row. He stalked over to the group and cleared his throat. After a bit of shuffling of feet, enough of the students stepped aside that he was able to approach the object of their attention. He held out a hand. “I just wanted to welcome you to my class.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Gottlieb.” She stood and shook his hand. “Vanessa.” 

Everything clicked — the email sent out weeks ago, the person who had stopped by his office that morning. “Doctor,” he said immediately. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled again, this time more gently, and he felt his own eyes crinkle in response. 

He took a mental deep breath. He guarded his title jealously, but for the sake of this unassuming woman — “Please, call me Hermann.” 

He could feel his students staring at him. Likely out of jealously; they must think he was stealing this beautiful creature away from them. Let them think what they would. “I look forward to hearing you speak this evening,” he said, and he could feel the room take a collective breath as they realized who he was speaking to. 

“Thank you,” she said graciously. The room was nearly full now, and with a slight nod, he excused himself. He returned to the board and picked up his broken piece of chalk. The murmur and chatter of the students died away. He completed the half-finished diagram on the board and turned to the class. 

“Now, as we were discussing last week . . .” 

At the end of class, Dr. Kiesler rose from her seat and gathered her things. “I’ll see you tonight,” she called to Hermann as she filed out with his students. Hermann gave her a tight wave, but she was already out of the room. 

* * *

 

That evening, the lecture hall was packed. Hermann had a front-row seat, as he always did, and he rested his hands lightly on the top of his cane as he listened to her speak. She was, it turned out, a very good speaker with an excellent sense of humor. The audience was charmed out of their minds, and the question and answer session at the end went long enough that the moderator had to cut it short. 

At the meet-and-greet afterward, she was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and Hermann made his way over to the hors d’oeuvres to wait them out. When it became clear the crowd wasn’t dissipating anytime soon, he finished off a final canapé and made his way towards them. It took some time for him to gradually work his way through the crowd, but when Vanessa spotted him, her face lit up. “Hermann!” she said. “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you.” 

The circle immediately reformed to allow him inside. Hermann blinked. “Really? I—I mean, I was hoping to speak with you, too.” 

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and she turned her attention to him fully. “You’ll have to tell me about your work. I hear you’re working on another paper?” 

“I—yes, I am. But you must be tired of hearing about other people’s work,” he added quickly. The crowd that had gathered around her was already starting to fall away.

“I’m certainly tired of talking about _mine._ Indulge me.” 

So he did. Vanessa was fascinating, and she seemed to be just as fascinated by Hermann. They were still talking when the hors d'oeuvres were cleared away, and Vanessa only showed signs of wanting to leave when the room was being dismantled in earnest. 

“You must have lunch and dinner plans for the next two days,” Hermann said as they made their way to the door, “but perhaps the day after next . . . ?” 

Vanessa laughed. It was a wonderful sound. “Dinner, yes, but my plans for lunch tomorrow were to sit alone in a cafe somewhere. Would you like to join me?” 

Hermann stared at her. “Are you sure you’re free?” 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

Hermann shook himself out of his daze. “Of course I would love to join you. You have my email?” 

“Yes, I do. How do you feel about pizza?” 

* * *

 

They hit it off immediately. 

Vanessa, it turned out, was local; she had moved to Cambridge only a few months before, when her new position at Cambridge had been confirmed. She was staring there next term, and fresh off a year of working on nothing but her own research, she was grateful to have someone to talk to about anything else. Hermann, who had spent his entire life being trained to talk about nothing but what he was working on, was astonished at how nice it felt to have someone who was willing to listen to things that had nothing to do with physics or mathematics. 

The only problem was, they agreed on everything.

Hermann worried, sometimes, about what he was doing with his life. He wanted to make a difference. New ideas didn’t come from agreement — but they didn’t come from his hostile relationship with his colleagues, either, who Hermann sometimes thought were not capable of seeing another person as anything but competition for funding. With no friends to speak of, Hermann had no one else to talk to, no emotional support in his life at all. With Vanessa, the conversation shifted easily from the stars to their personal lives, and Hermann thought that maybe this was what his relationship with his siblings could have been, had things been different.

Hermann never talked to anyone about his father. He never talked about how his father’s grief at his mother’s death had laid waste to an entire section of Hermann’s childhood, how Hermann’s emotions had ceased to be his own and had turned in on themselves as a defense mechanism against anyone he might care too much about. But with Vanessa, the terror he often felt when confronted with personal relationships wasn’t there. It felt good to care about someone. It felt really good to be cared about back. 

Lunch turned into coffee which turned into dinner, and suddenly they had a standing lunch date on Mondays at 12:30. And just as Hermann relaxed into their relationship, their _friendship_ , the thought hit him that Vanessa might not get it. She might think he wanted something more, that this was already something more, and his throat closed up and had to start squaring numbers — _2, 4, 16, 256, 65536 —_ then start cubing because he had the squares memorized up too high, and then he was able to breathe. 

He would tell her, and he would not allow there to be any doubt of what he meant. If there was anything years of studying mathematics had taught him, it was how to state something without any ambiguity at all. 

* * *

 

Two weeks after they first met, he cleared his throat when they were drinking coffee in the middle of Cambridge. “Perhaps I should mention something. I don’t have any romantic intentions towards you.”

Vanessa smiled. “Me neither.”

He blinked, thrown off track. “Er,” he said, because he wasn’t exactly sure what she thought he was saying. “I don’t just mean right this minute. I’m not really . . .” 

“It’s fine. I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Oh.” Hermann rotated his coffee cup on its saucer. He could feel his cheeks heating. It wasn’t that he felt that the owed Vanessa this, but . . . he considered her a friend, and he wanted to tell her. “I just mean that I tend not to date people in general. I . . .” Why was this so difficult? 

“I’m aromantic,” she said. “And asexual.” Hermann stared at her. “It means —” 

“I know what it means,” Hermann said hastily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I’ve never met anyone — I mean.” He pressed his eyes shut. This was horrendous. How was he messing this up this badly? He was the one who had initiated the conversation. 

“Anyone who feels similarly?” 

He opened his eyes. Vanessa was smiling. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yes.” 

“To be honest, I think there are a lot of us in STEM fields. There’s just so little exposure — which is nice, really. It’s not like the entertainment industry. There’s not the same kind of coverage of our daily lives.” 

Vanessa had mentioned once that she had been a model, which had not surprised Hermann at all. That kind of coverage must have been exhausting. “I . . . have never thought about it, I suppose.” He rotated his coffee cup in the other direction. “To be fair, though, I’m . . .” He struggled for words. “Not quite the same as you.”  

Vanessa shrugged. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen.” 

They didn’t speak about it again, but hearing her say that lifted a burden off Hermann’s shoulders he hadn’t known he had been carrying. 

* * *

 

The term ended and the summer began. Vanessa moved into her office down the hall from Hermann and the new term started. When Vanessa’s mother stopped by for lunch one day, Vanessa introduced Hermann as, “My good friend Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.” 

A year later, Hermann received a call from Vanessa. She was in the United States, where she was attending a conference. Hermann was bogged down in research and funding requests and was grateful to have a distraction. 

“I met the most adorable person today,” she said. “He was smaller than you. Bean-sized.” 

“Really,” Hermann said dryly, who was used to being teased by six-foot-two Vanessa for his (completely reasonable) height. 

“It was so weird listening to him tell his life story. He hadn’t heard of you, but you two could have been long-lost siblings.” 

Hermann squinted at his computer screen as he retyped another line in his grant request. “Not someone I would have heard of, then?” 

“Nah, he’s a biologist. I suggested he contact you, but I don’t think he will. It’s probably a good thing, too.” She laughed. “We all went out for drinks last night, and you two would _hate_ each other. Trust me, I would pay money to keep you two from being in the same room.” 

“Luckily, it sounds like you won’t have to,” Hermann said dryly. 

“I certainly hope not. It would be a disaster.” 

Vanessa was correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bothers me that we only know Vanessa as “Vanessa Gottlieb.” Her surname is a nod to Hedy Lamarr, whose last name was Kiesler before she changed it. 
> 
> I’m in too deep with my Hermann headcanons. I have now decided he’s lactose intolerant, and there is an entire deleted scene of him ordering pizza without cheese on it and Vanessa freaking out and insisting he order it with cheese so she can scrape it off and have twice as much cheese because there wasn’t enough on her slice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They met in 2017. It was a disaster.

They met in 2017. It was a disaster. 

Their flights both technically got in the day before the conference started, but Newt’s was late enough that they decided to wait to meet until the next morning. As Newt stumbled into his room at some likely reasonable time that felt like five in the morning, he was grateful they’d decided to wait. He passed out on his bed and didn’t wake up until his alarm went off. 

Three hours later, Newt was dressed, caffeinated, and waiting in the foyer for Hermann to show up. His leg bounced as he scanned the room for a familiar face. Their agreed meeting time was fifteen minutes ago, and Newt didn’t get the impression that Hermann was someone who liked to be late. 

They had tactfully avoided talking about _how_ they were going to find each other. Newt wasn’t really worried about Hermann not recognizing him—Newt’s Google search results were supplemented on a regular basis by students who had a healthy habit of snapping a photo whenever he tried out a new hairstyle—but Hermann didn’t seem to consider himself very photogenic, and he was just old-school academic enough that Newt was almost worried he’d get lost in the sea of jackets and sweater vests that was quickly filling the hotel. All Newt had to identify him was a blurry still from one of Hermann’s lectures at Cambridge that Newt had saved on his phone. 

He scanned the room again, and something about the vaguely familiar person deep in conversation with the head of Anchorage’s K-Science’s team snagged his attention. The haircut was just this side of awkward, but Newt found himself drawn to the displeased curve of Hermann’s mouth, and then the long line of his neck. Hermann looked . . . different than he had expected. Taller. Prouder. 

Hermann didn’t seem as invested in the conversation as its other participant, and when he raised his eyes to glance around the room, he saw Newt looking. Their eyes locked. Hermann titled his head slightly, raising his chin and showing the line of his jaw. He appraised Newt, his eyes running quickly down to Newt’s Doc Martens and back up to his face, and Newt’s mouth went dry. His palms were sweating, and _shit_ this was really happening. Hermann turned back to the woman in front of him, clearly excusing himself, and Newt realized his sleeves were still rolled all the way down. 

He had to do this, he _had_ to. He had promised himself he would.

The freshest ink on his arms was only a month old. The oldest dated to October of 2013, the earliest he had been able to get an appointment after the events of that August. He had known he would get flak for them from the beginning, but it had been worse than he had expected, and the reactions hadn’t gotten any better as the death tolls had risen. After a conversation that had devolved into vitriol he never wanted to experience again, he had given up trying to reason with the people who felt the need to comment on his tattoos. His left arm was still mostly blank, but his right sleeve was complete almost up to his shoulder. If Hermann didn’t—if _Hermann—_

He took a deep breath and began to roll up one sleeve. His hands were shaking, though they were steadier by the time he started on the second sleeve. Hermann was close now, making his way through the crowd at a steady pace. Newt repositioned his packet of papers, looked up, and Hermann was standing in front of him.

He hadn’t realized Hermann used a cane.  

Hermann’s eyes rested on Newt’s, then ran over his forearms. His eyes flicked back to Newt’s face. Newt held his breath. Hermann held out a hand. “Dr. Geiszler.” 

“Hermann! It’s amazing to see you.” Newt took Hermann’s hand in his own, gripping it back tightly. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, he wasn’t sure he was breathing at the normal speed anymore. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “It’s so great to finally meet you, man.” 

“It’s Dr. Gottlieb,” Hermann hissed, and he jerked his hand out of Newt’s grasp. “And I would appreciate it if you treated me professionally.” 

The smile dropped from Newt’s face, and he took a step back. “Dude,” he said. “It’s not like we don’t know each other.” Hermann’s eyes dropped to Newt’s arm again, and Newt’s stomach plummeted to the floor. “Seriously?” 

 _“Kaijus?”_ Hermann demanded in what barely qualified as a whisper. “Are you aware of the damage they have caused, the price they have made us pay in _human lives?”_

“Wow, I’ve never heard _that_ before,” Newt snapped. “We both know there is no one on this planet better qualified to make judgements about kaiju than me.” 

“You study them,” Hermann shot back. “You are a scientist. You are not a—a religious fanatic.” 

“No?” Newt crossed his arms over his chest and his folder of papers, making sure the art on his right arm was prominently on display. “Maybe the cultists have the right idea. At least they bother to try to understand the kaiju.”

Hermann’s face went white. “Do _not_ leave the PPDC to— _galavant_ about with—” 

Newt let out a bark of laughter. “Galavant? Please. I’m not leaving the PPDC because you’re an asshole.”

 _“I’m—”_ All the color that had drained from Hermann’s face returned in full force. _“I_ am not the one being unprofessional here.” Hermann stepped closer to Newt and shoved a finger towards his chest, stopping short of actually touching him. His hand, Newt was satisfied to note, was shaking. “You should know better than anyone else how incredibly privilegedwe both are to be in this position, and if you endanger—” 

“Oh _, really?”_ Newt nearly shouted. “You think I’m going to endanger your position? We are _vital_ to the Jaeger program. If I hadn’t signed up when I did, we would be decades behind—” 

“We would be in exactly the same position we are in now, because you are _not_ the only qualified—” 

“But I’m the only one who _cares,_ Hermann. In a couple of years, this isn’t going to be cool anymore. If we don’t fix this quickly—” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Hermann was livid. “That is _exactly_ why I recommended you to the PPDC!” 

Newt stared at him. “You _what?”_

“Please,” Hermann snarled. “With three PhDs and next to no publications, you are practically unemployable. Do you really think any organization other than your _alma mater_ would gamble on you without someone to vouch for you?” 

Newt’s eyes stung. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted point-blank in Hermann’s face. “I got in on my own merits! Just because—because your _father—_ ” 

“Do _not,”_ Hermann breathed. 

“Everyone knows he’s the only reason—” 

“My father has nothingto do with my work,” Hermann said, deadly quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m sure they let just anyone sign up to code top-secret weaponized robots,” Newt said sarcastically. “How did you get in on that project, again?” 

Hermann’s knuckles were white where they gripped the head of his cane. “As of this morning, my work on the Breach shows without a doubt that it is contracting, which is a far more valuable contribution than—” 

Newt snorted. “ _Contracting?_ Dude, you are so wrong.” 

Hermann was momentarily struck speechless, surprising both of them. Newt recovered first, and he took the opportunity to slowly arch an eyebrow. “You heard me. The kaiju have been increasing in size, so there’s no way the Breach is getting smaller.” 

They stared at each other. “Nonsense,” Hermann said briskly. Later, Newt would recognize the way Hermann pursed his lips slightly as a sign that he knew he was dead wrong. At the time, it made it look like Hermann’s egotism had just reached astronomical levels. 

“You are literallythe most stubborn person on the planet,” Newt told him. “And I’m including myself in that.” 

“Then I suppose we will have to consider this a draw,” Hermann sneered. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a poster session to attend.” 

Hermann strode across the foyer at astonishing speed. Newt glared at Hermann’s retreating back, then realized that the foyer was suspiciously quiet. Sure enough, everyone was staring at him. 

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath, and strode off in the opposite direction. 

* * *

 

Newt fumed through the next three talks on kaiju anatomy, asked some hostile questions about the validity of some data on the effects of kaiju blue on zebra fish, pretended he wasn’t missing Hermann’s only talk during the entire conference, and skipped dinner to fume in his room some more. 

It wasn’t just that Hermann had been an ass; Hermann was _wrong._ In their correspondence, Hermann was almost never just plain wrong. Didn’t explain himself very well? Sure (though Newt was more often guilty of that one). Hermann was always open to discussion about his points, and though they might try to poke each other’s arguments full of holes, it almost always led to a better hypothesis in the end. This time, Hermann hadn’t even paused to allow for the possibility that he might not be right _._

Newt started typing it up on his computer just for himself, and then he ran the calculations, and he was _almost_ there when his computer battery died. Newt pulled out a pen and some paper and started where he had left off. Two hours later, Newt was still right and had the calculations to prove it. 

It took a lot of willpower for Newt to pick up his phone and open the last email he had gotten from Hermann. It was dated almost twenty-four hours earlier and was brief. 

_See you soon. I will be in room 113._

_Hermann_

Newt stared at the word _Hermann_ for a good few seconds. _“Dr. Gottlieb,”_ Hermann had snarled at him earlier. Newt hadn’t called him that for _years._ His eyes stung. He closed his phone, grabbed his sheaf of papers, and headed for the elevator. 

Hermann opened the door at the first knock. 

“Look, I get that you’re mad at me, but just hear me out. You are wrong, and I can prove it. Sorry it’s not nicely formatted in LaTeX for you, but my computer died and I didn’t bring a convertor for my charger, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Newt thrust the papers covered in his handwriting toward him.  

Hermann looked at the papers, creases of exhaustion showing at the corners of his eyes, then stepped aside without touching them. After a moment, his stomach in his throat, Newt stepped inside. 

Hermann’s room was unbelievably neat. Newt was totally on board with living out of your suitcase (who needed to unpack everything when you were only going to be there for a few days?), but Hermann hadn’t unpacked _at all._ The only area where there was any sign that Hermann spent time in his room was his desk. His laptop sat open at its center, and the rest of its surface was littered with sheets of paper that were covered in calculations. 

The door closed behind Newt, and he turned around to face Hermann. Hermann was looking at him. Newt held out the papers again, and this time, Hermann took them. He looked at the top page for a moment, but his eyes weren’t moving. “After an examination of my data, I have also come to the conclusion that you may be right,” he said quietly without looking up.  

Hermann was still fully dressed, even though it was probably past midnight. He was leaning far more heavily on his cane than he had been earlier. He glanced up, his eyes very dark and very tired. 

“Really?” said Newt. 

Hermann let out a very slow breath that might have been a sigh. He gestured to the bed with the papers before sinking into the desk chair. “Would you like to take a seat?” 

Six years ago, when Newt first heard Hermann Gottlieb’s name, he would never have imagined that he would one day discuss the fate of the world with Hermann face to face. 

Three years ago, Newt would have given— _had_ given—almost anything to make that a reality. 

Now, as Newt slowly sat down on the edge of Hermann’s lumpy mattress, he felt like he had missed something without even realizing it was passing him by. When he spoke, it was in a subdued voice, and Hermann’s response was clipped. They spoke about the kaiju, and the Breach, and the way politics and ethics and science never mixed well. The longer they talked, the more light Newt saw in Hermann’s eyes, the same fire that he had _felt_ in their email exchanges—but Hermann always seemed to realize whenever he was getting too involved, too enthusiastic, and he would withdraw, lean back in his chair just slightly. 

They never spoke about what they had said in the foyer of the hotel.  

It was nearly three in the morning when Newt finally left Hermann’s room. Newt left the papers he had brought, because they had proved his point. He walked slowly down the hall to the elevator, and he rocked back on his heels while he waited for it to come. Hermann had very light crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and there was a little crease that appeared next to his mouth when he frowned. He stood his straightest when he felt passionately about something, and Newt suspected that if he spent enough time around Hermann, he would be able to read his moods from the line of his shoulders. 

Newt hadn’t realized that meeting Hermann would make it so much more difficult to pretend that he wasn’t, maybe, falling a little bit into a crush on the stranger who was probably the best friend he had ever had. 

* * *

 

The next morning, Newt woke to find a note slipped under his door. 

_I am leaving on an early flight and suspect you are not currently conscious. I will be sending my calculations in when I land, and I assure you that your work will be cited in full._

_Your phone is out of batteries. Please buy yourself an adapter for the sake of your Shatterdome’s director, if no one else._

_Hermann_

* * *

 

In October, Yamarashi made landfall in Los Angeles. Newt called his tattooist and started on the design for his second sleeve.


End file.
